


Magic Words

by Meraki_Moli



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, But she acts 8, Doctor Eren, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Imagined their kid at 5, Inspired by My Job, Lawyer Levi, Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin) is soft for his hubbie, M/M, Married Ereri, This is written differently on each site I've posted it on, ereri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 12:58:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15685896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meraki_Moli/pseuds/Meraki_Moli
Summary: The barista swears it's the little girl she remembers and not the attractive men that tended to follow behind her.or the one where a barista observes a family interaction as the child struggles to obtain sweets in her bento box when she's with certain members.Told from the eyes of the barista.





	Magic Words

It's really the little girl she remembers and not just because the man's she's with—the man she'd assumed up until now to be her father despite the drastic difference in their appearances as well as how young he looks—just might be the most handsome man to have graced her shift with his presence even with the perpetual downward tug of his lips and seemingly permanent narrowed slant of his eyes. Not at all. The little girl is genuinely cute with her smooth, near obsidian-black skin and her rounded face and high cheekbones and buzzed cut scalp.

She stands on tiptoe to see over the counter and through the glass, choosing what to put in her Jaw Titan bento box. The man—shorter than you'd expect but with a face the color of moonlight—frowns at his phone as she goes, switching between glaring at his screen and squinting at the menu irritably. When she finishes her order, the child beams widely at the barista, showing off a gapped smile and bright, onyx eyes. There is a flushed undertone to her skin.

The barista smiles warmly at her, eyes crinkly in adoration at her young patron, "and your Jaw Titan comes with your choice of either fruit or Mochi as well as milk and soda," she recites.

She simply _melts_ at the expression the child's face morphs into; surprise and eagerness digging their way into every wrinkle of her face as she bounces, excitedly declaring and slightly breathless, "mochi and soda, please!"

As the barista goes for the preferred items a cluck from the man behind her has her pausing and he gives a sharp shake of his head, unevenly parted bangs swaying over his undercut from the firm gesture.

"Fruit," he demands and the barista nearly jumps at the sharp tone, but he's not addressing her; he's frowning at the child. She attempts to steady her beating heart, cheeks flushing in embarrassment as she catches her breath. Being yelled out and rude parents made her uneasy. The impassive gaze only ups the intimidation factor. She both praises and winces on behalf of the little girl.

"—and chocolate milk," this is directed towards her, softer in an effort to be polite and she gives him points for trying at least, "please," a thoughtful decline of his head and yeah, it was stiff, but with a face like that she'd award points.

_He'd make gorgeous babies,_ she thinks absently, but that's neither here nor there.

His voice is silk and syrupy and the words thrum in the air, low and stead and echoing in the barista's eardrums, leaving a content hum vibrating through her body.

However, any attraction—sexual or _not_ —she'd felt for the man all but dissipates at the crestfallen look on the girl's face.

The little girl's brows furrow in an expression the barista is sure was nurtured and not nature as her father—no, not father, as we'll see in a moment—meets her glare head on. Irises of steel, firm in their decision, face off against pools of ink as the child looks this shy of stomping her foot, barely catching herself and hissing, "but Daddy said I could!"

_Oh, well, that's that then._

"Well," a mocking drawl, "Daddy's not here. And _I_ said no."

Her nose twitches and scrunches up, eyes welling with unshed tears. Her current guardian doesn't seem phased in the least, simply quirking up an eyebrow, _daring_ her to cry.

"Daddy said," she enunciates each work, trying to be strong, "if I got an A on my test I could have dessert."

He's unperturbed, "you're supposed to get A's. You don't get rewarded for doing what you're supposed to do _besides_ being here is reward enough," and he turns away, signaling the end of the conversation with a short nod to the barista who has yet to move or fix her frozen smile. Luckily, there's not many people behind them in the line but it could grow in a matter of seconds.

The little girl's chest heaves rapidly with her growing emotions but it's obvious she doesn't want to cry, knowing full well the consequences if she does. No fruit _or_ bento box.

The barista feels for the little girl, she does, but at the end of the day the man is the one with tip money and she's not going to risk a complaint because of an angel that visited her in the form of a child no matter how much her heart is telling her to snatch up the little girl and stuff her with as much mochi as she wants.

She gathers the instructed items and sets them in and beside the bento box before sealing it.

The little girl is still glaring but the man doesn't seem phased and the barista flirts with the idea that he's either heartless or hates dogs (which is basically the same thing) because the little girl's face could've— _should've_ —brought a grown man to his knees.

"Hey," the barista calls, smiling warmly at the little girl and ignoring the ink haired man's suspicious gaze as she passes over the box, "maybe next time, ok?"

She sniffles, raising a hand to wipe her moistening nose as she takes the man's hand when prompted and nods, sadly.

The man drops a two dollar tip into the tip jar, striding out with no remorse and she catches the glint of a ring on his left hand.

She's not sure what this means or what she should be assuming, godfather maybe? Uncle? Hell, babysitter?

Disheartened for the child, she can't help but wonder what the man's relation to her was and where her father could've been during her time of need.

* * *

The little girl is back a week later and the barista does a double take when she sees her new companion, eyes wandering up the lean form of the man who is with her.

_Damn, she’s going to be sorely disappointed when she starts noticing boys because her company is_ gorgeous _._

A huge step down faces her in her teen years.

Maybe _he’s_ her father? In that case, she looks for a ring and sure enough, there it is. A simple, silver band decorates the fourth finger of his left hand, the hand that has just been released by the darker child as she skips up to the glass in her nude colored leotard. Flimsy shorts adorn her tiny legs and a duffle bag is slung over the man’s shoulder—

He’s taller than the first man by at least a foot and his skin is darker (closer in color to the child’s but not by much at all— _tan_ ), hair lighter, but he looks just as young, maybe younger. He watches the child fondly as she bounds up to the counter, arms swinging enthusiastically by her side. She orders the same thing as he trails behind her, “1 jaw titan to go, please!”

Behind her the man hesitated, staring at the menu, a hand to his chin, speculating in amusement, “should I get him a Colossal Titan?”

The little girl pauses between her selection of noriben and a tamagoyaki to look, and considers this question seriously, “I think he’d like an Attack Titan instead.”

The man smiles charmingly at her, dimples showing as he nods in agreement, “I think so too.”

“Can I get one Attack Titan to go as well, thank you.”

And he finishes his order with the same confidence his mini companion does, a hand in the pocket of black jeans and the cuffs of his white button-down shirt rolled up to reveal tanned forearms.

Her smile is the same as she approaches the counter once again, toothy and gapped, the corners of her mouth spreading from ear to ear as she waits.

“I like your leotard,” the barista says first and the child’s eyes crinkle and she twirls, “did you just have a competition?”

“I did! And I beat my last score!”

“ _Wow_! Very impressive, the most interesting thing I can do is a cartwheel.”

The girl giggles, “that’s not very advanced at all,” and the barista laughs good-naturedly as the child’s father nudges mumbling,

“Be polite.”

She straightens up, “Hello, sir, your jaw Titan comes with a side of either fruit or Mochi as well as milk or soda.”

Her eyes grow even wider, saucer-like orbs staring out at the dark-haired barista whose heart clenches adoringly at the sight. She hopes the little girl isn’t stopped in her endeavor like the last time.

“Mochi and soda, please.”

The barista waits, eyes cautiously roaming to the other man’s—damn, emerald green, what a catch—and waits for his judgment. To her dread, his mouth is twisting down into a contemplative frown, “I don’t know kiddo. Mochi _and_ a soda? What would Daddy say?”

She doesn’t have time to be confused.

“Daddy’s not here,” the gymnast sidles closer, eyes glistening coyly, “but you are.”

His face is still wrinkled in doubt so she tries another tactic.

She stomps her foot, eyebrows pulling together in exasperation rather than anger or defiance, “ _daddy!”_ she whines, betrayed.

The man’s mouth quirks at the corner in amusement and his eyebrows draw together in an attempt to stop his expression from morphing into one of mirth. His shoulders shake with suppressed laughter and the barista is floored;  _holy shit, can I have a pretty girl that laughs like that._ Her heart pounds erratically for no reason, it’s just, good-looking people like that shouldn’t be able to exist.

The girl straightens up, as though she realizes crying will get her nowhere and instead settles for opening her eyes wider to convey mock maturity, “daddy,” she starts, tone low and slow in the way one would adopt when speaking to young children, her father snorts. “You said, last week. Saturday,” she pauses every few syllables, “that if I beat my score,” she smacks her chest, “I could get mochi!”

The barista suppresses a laugh when her father hums and shoots her a look that reads, _can you believe this,_ but she’s not finished yet holding up another tiny finger from her tiny hand, “you _also_ said I could have Mochi and soda _last week_ but Daddy said no,” she plants her hands on her hips, “you can’t keep on going back on your word. Especially,” she’s very careful with pronouncing this word, “not when I have proof.”

He shoulders shake as he snickers, “you are your father’s child,” he hums but she doesn’t respond. She only looks over at him, awaiting his verdict and he eyes the menu dubiously.

“I don’t know—”

The little girl inhales sharply, eyes fiery in defiance, different from the way she had given up without a fight with the other man, and the barista holds her breath hoping not to see a repeat of last Thursday. But that fear is shattered when he smiles and nods at her, approving; the barista’s heart bursts with affection, thankful she doesn’t have to see the young child's face drop and crumple like last time, eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Go ahead, you’ve earned it.”

Her face breaks out into her excited grin, baring her teeth at the barista in a splitting grin and the barista prays to God she never loses it because it’s one of the purest things she’s ever seen during her time at _Paradise Falls_ . The child flings herself towards him and wraps her arms around his waist, eyes squeezing shut and gapped teeth showing as she nuzzles her cheek into his hip ecstatically chanting, “ _thank you, thank you, thank you!_ ” before she straightens up and turns the barista confidently proclaiming, “one mochi and one soda, please.”

“I hope you know I’ll be in trouble when we get home.”

She’s too busy shaking around her bento box and peering into it for her mochi to pay him any heed, “you’re always in trouble,” she remarks offhandedly and the man laughs good-naturedly.

“Indeed I am.” He slips a 3 dollar bill into the tip jar and gives a polite wave as his daughter drags him to the soda machine.

* * *

The barista honestly shouldn't have been as surprised as she was when she saw them and finally put two and two together and _oh, guess he's not making any babies any time soon_. It'd been a few weeks since any of them had come in but, like it was said before, the barista would have a hard time forgetting the little girl and her too-big eyes and the huge personality that makes her presence compensate for her stature. She must've gotten it from her other father because with her only interaction with him she can already despite his height he more than makes up for it in attitude.

This time the child enters with both men trailing behind her and the barista is floored for a moment at the sight of the taller one with his fingers intertwined with the raven-haired man's by the latter's head where the chestnut-haired man has his right arm around his companion's shoulders.

The shorter one sniffs, irritably, as the taller one murmurs into his ear, eyes glinting with mischief and the young girl skips to the counter babbling happily and casting glances over her shoulder every so often to exaggerate a point.

She's donned in a dashiki jumpsuit and seems to be in particularly high spirits and the barista is curious to see what verdict will be reached.

"—and that's when Aunt Annie said, in front of the whole class, that if Yuuki didn't calm down she'd hang her by her toes!"

"Oh did she? That sounds about right," the taller of the two smiles, distracted. Beside him, his companion is near scowling at the menu but doesn't look nearly as malicious as the barista figures he probably could. He contemplatively murmurs, craning his neck at his companion, "so you got me an Attack Titan last time?"

An adoring kiss is pressed to the corner of his mouth and the taller man's eyes crinkle at the corners, mouth pressing together with the force of his pleased, toothless smile, "let's share a Colossal Titan this time."

The dark man's eyebrow quirks up, lazily, "I didn't even like it the last time you got me one, why waste money?"

This time a kiss is pressed to his lower lip, "because you'll indulge me and eat it," he says it sweetly, flashing perfect dentures, but there's a challenging sharpness to the corners of his grin, cutting into his cheeks _daring_ the other to counter.

The other man "tchs" and looks away, brows furrowing in the beginnings of a scowl before he looks back. The taller of the two must've like what he saw because another eager kiss is pressed to his lower lip that has the shorter man tilting his head away with a light scowl and lightly dusted hues of pink rising to his cheeks as he orders pathetically, "stop it."

"You know you liked it," the taller one waggles his eyebrows, "I was the one that came up with the name."

The shorter one scoffs, "which is why I don't come here; any establishment that considers your input isn't worth their salt."

The green eyes devil snickers, good-naturedly, " _suuure_ ," he drawls and marks it with another kiss.

"Knock it off and order the food and you," he turns to the little girl who's shaking, head jerking and face crinkled with the force of her smile, "settle down, you're not a barnyard animal."

He massages his temples in mock irritation, "Jesus, I'm raising _two_ brats," and punctuates the statement by pressing back into his husband's side—

Despite his previous declaration, the smaller one leans forward in interest as his husband orders their meal, periodically eyeing his daughter's tray dubiously before adding in his own two cents. Sometimes his husband wrinkles his nose in disdain, other times he grins, pleased.

The young child has just selected omurice as one of her sides and asks sweetly, eyes blinking shut and mouth spreading wider, for extra ketchup and waving the barista's coworker off when she deems it suffice enough—meaning it's drenched—before she says, "look Daddy, now it looks like your patients!"

Both adults freeze in their selections and turn orb-like eyes to their daughter who beams at the adult she's talking to. The paler of the two turns livid eyes to his husband whose expression matches the barista's save for the guilty smile tugging at his mouth.

" _What_?" he grounds out.

"She—she doesn't mean it like that," the other stammers, hands raising placatingly. And then he hisses, near betrayed, at his child, "who told you that?"

She beams, seemingly oblivious to the conflict she's caused— the barista swears she sees a devious smile, "Auntie Izzie—" And she watches attentively as her box is shifted to the barista.

Her eyes light up in recognition and she tugs on the leg of her father's pants as he's hissing in what the barista recognizes as French to his husband who is responding in a different language, rolling his eyes even though his face is still pinched guiltily.

"Daddies, Daddies, look, it's _her_!" both pairs of eyes raise and she flushes under the attention, "she told me she liked my leotard."

"Oh, so it is, say hello," the taller one smiles, detaching himself from his conversation fairly easily.

The shorter rolls his eyes and says to her, "she probably remembers the near tantrum you threw when you were with me."

The barista laughs; this—this she can do. She's always been charismatic and can hold a conversation as long as the other party allows it so she's nothing if not comfortable when she leans down over the counter (which is a no but who's going to check her?) and says, "it's hard for me to forget a pretty face like that; of course I remember you. You wore a pretty leotard last time you were here; that's a very pretty outfit you've got on now, though."

"Your good," the shorter one praises even as his eyes narrow.

She hides a snicker behind a cough. The child's outfit is a dashiki jumpsuit, strap wrapping around her neck. It starts a midnight blue on one side but comes down with maroon and magenta flower-like patterns on the other.

The torso is separated vertically, one half is the same shade of blue as the strap on her opposite shoulder, completely solid. A half sphere cuts into it from the other side which is layered in colors and patterns; oranges and pinks, and petals and dots. The leg of the pants criss cross into mismatched designs as well, much tinier and detailed than the rest of her outfit. Her feet are adorned with short, beige, gladiator sandals.

"This is a dashiki!" she beams, "for culture day in my class. I wanted to wear a kimono for Aunt Mikasa, like cousin Yuuki! But daddy wanted me to wear something representative of Africa so I could teach the other kids! And Titi Hanji did my scarf!" the headwrap is indeed well done, and she shakes her head to display the correctness, it's knotted just to the right of her left temple and is a mix of the same colors her suit is. "Daddy says Titi is very world-ly!"

— _The dark haired one snorts and mutters in French. The child turns to him sharply, "that's a bad word!"_

_He looks away, guiltily, as his husband admonishes him—_

The barista beams down at her, "well, it's beautiful on you."

The jingle of the shop goes off signaling the arrival of a customer. As she glances away the colorfully dressed child begs, "say the magic words!"

"Manners," the stern one orders.

"Please," she breathes, watching the barista with shining eyes. It warms her heart and makes her giddy for no reason in particular. The child stares at her like she's some sort of wizard, casting an enchanting spell and not just offering sweets. It makes both her heart swell as well as drives her to do what she can to make the child happy.

"And your jaw titan comes with your choice of fruit or mochi as well as a soda or milk," she cocks her head, smiles winningly, and quotes herself.

"Mochi and so—"

The shorter one clucks and the taller one hides a snicker behind his hand.

She whips her head back, aghast, " _daddy_ ," nearly bubbles from her throat. It starts as a high pitched whine formed behind closed lips before her mouth opens, tongue pressing against the roof of her mouth and lips curling away from bared teeth.

"No soda," the tall one says, eyes crinkling around the edges as her eyes bulge in surprise. "But you can have mochi." His tone leaves no room for arguments or further negotiations but the child's face has already broken into an excited grin that makes the barista think that this one of the side benefits to her job, all though she doesn't miss the purse of the smaller one's lips.

She attempts to move the elder of the two to the side and wedge herself between them in an effort to hug the other but he nudges her away with his knee every time she gets close. Eventually, she huffs in mock anger and the smaller one grins smugly at her. In turn, she sticks her tongue out at him and his expression wrinkles into one of mock offense. He reaches out and swipes his thumb across her chin, somewhat aggressively, causing her head to jerk a moment but she only giggles and pushes his hand away attempting a scowl as he doesn't move from his spot pressed against his husband.

The barista has since turned to retrieve the items as she does the little girl switches gears and plants hands on her hips, as the chestnut brown haired man reaches for their meal, "why do I always have to get milk?

"You want to be taller than Daddy don't you?" he doesn't miss a beat.

She gives the other one, the short one, a pointed look before turning back to her other father and says almost conspiratorially even though she's loud enough to be heard—

" _Everyone_ is taller than Daddy."

And she punctuates the statement by prying them apart, much to the shorter one's half-hearted protest, and taking both of their hands in her tiny ones and swinging her arms broadly.

He scowls, "cheeky brat," but continues allowing his hand to be swung as she skips between them.

As they're leaving, and after the taller of the two slips a 5 dollar tip into the jar, the regional manager (who frequents all of her shops and mooches off of her own food) comes out from the back looking after the three with a slack jaw and a spoon in her hand, "was that Eren and Levi?"

The barista is at a loss for words while Sasha bemoans to herself, "ooh, I have a gift for Ada, why can't they ever tell me when they're coming."

The barista doesn't deem it necessary to point out that she doesn't ever tell when she's coming to visit but she's already scurried from behind the counter shouting, "Eren! Levi! Ada! Come back!"

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of S3 even though I've yet to watch a single episode. I'm trying to have at least four more Ereri works posted by the end of the week. A few run-on sentences because I write how I talk and I've no clue if I used EM dashes right (might've went overboard) but *I think* I did well.


End file.
